


Keeping Up Appearances

by leigh_adams



Series: Serenata Immortale [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Community: rarepair_shorts, Death Eaters, F/M, Infidelity, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 17:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh_adams/pseuds/leigh_adams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone else only saw what she wanted them to see: the happy bride-to-be, radiant in the spotlight on the arm of her less-than-beloved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Up Appearances

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of a prompt table for rarepair_shorts. This is set in a world where Voldemort won instead of Harry.

Daphne didn’t know if she could keep up her façade any longer. She’d smiled, danced, laughed, and held onto Gregory’s arm as if she were delighted to be his future wife. Her lips felt frozen upwards, though she doubted that the warmth of a smile ever reached her eyes. This was a charade, all of it. The well-wishers, the congratulations for her betrothed- “You’re a lucky man, Goyle. She’s quite a catch”- and the general air of happiness was all a lie.

Everyone knew that neither bride nor groom wanted this marriage. Well, the groom did. After all, marrying one of the Greengrass girls firmly cemented himself in the Dark Lord’s inner circle. The Goyles were a wealthy pure family, but the Greengrasses were almost on par with the Parkinsons and the Malfoys. This did nothing but help his rise in prominence.

The bride, though? Even though she had smiled all evening, danced and laughed gaily, and played the perfect hostess, Daphne wanted nothing more than to hurl herself off of the nearest balcony.

She had had enough training in society that she was able to keep her feelings off of her face. Everyone else only saw what she wanted them to see: the happy bride-to-be, radiant in the spotlight on the arm of her less-than-beloved.

It was amazing, how much her perspective had changed since the Dark Lord had taken over. When she was seventeen, she wanted nothing more than to marry a man of her social station and live as a proper pure wife and mother should, adored by her husband and superior to all other humans- as it should be.

Life hadn’t gone as expected. As the Dark Lord had found out, taking power was only half the battle. His grip on wizarding Britain was tenuous at times, and it was at those moments when the Order would come out from hiding and challenge his reign. Every time, it did nothing but raise morale for the Death Eaters, and the Order would be forced back into hiding after their numbers were yet again cut down by the Dark Lord’s minions.

Daphne knew that her cousin Astoria lived in fear of those times. Michael, her step-brother, was hiding with the Order, had been ever since the Battle of Hogwarts. His mother had been killed in a raid on Diagon Alley- one of the many innocent bystanders who’d been accidental victims, and Astoria’s father had been executed after he refused to bend a knee to the Dark Lord.

She wished she had his courage, but Daphne knew that it had been in vain. With neither mother nor father, Astoria had been handed over to Daphne’s father to handle.

That was a fate she wished on _no one_. With two Greengrass girls at his disposal, Devon Greengrass was in a position to cement twice the number of alliances. Her father was ruthless, cruel and completely devoid of emotions. It was because of him that Daphne was in this situation to begin with. She had no doubts that he would force her cousin into a similar arrangement. Both Nott and the elder MacNair were looking for wives. If she were a betting woman, she would have put her money on the younger Greengrass woman being married off to one of them.

A sharp pinch of the skin above her elbow brought her mind back down to her body, and she shook her head slightly, breaking the mental reverie she’d been engaged in. She looked up, smiling apologetically at Gregory’s cross look, and turned her attention back to the couple in front of them.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Cornfoot,” she said sweetly, “but the excitement of the evening seems to have taken its toll. Would you be so kind as to excuse me for a moment while I partake a bit of fresh air?”

The older society matron gave a small smile and a slight head nod. “Of course, Daphne. I’m sure Gregory here will manage without you for a few moments.”

Daphne smiled and leaned in to brush a cool kiss over her fiancé’s cheek. “I’ll be back momentarily, darling,” she murmured faintly before pulling her hand free of the crook of his arm. With another smile for the Cornfoots, she turned and hurried out of the ballroom.

Willowcourt, her late uncle’s estate, had been seized by the Dark Lord and given to her father as a gift after Darren Greengrass had been killed. It was considerably larger than Greengrass Manor, though it was quite a bit newer as well. They didn’t stay here often, but her father had felt it would be an appropriate venue for tonight’s festivities.

As it were, she knew the corridors of the sprawling mansion as well as her own home, and Daphne quickly maneuvered through the maze of rooms until she reached the large, sloping yawn behind the house. She could see the dark waters of the English Channel off in the distance, a bitter reminder of the last time she’d been this close to the sea.

_Blaise_. His name was never far from her thoughts. Ever since she’d ended their affair three months ago, he was always on her mind. Every little thing: a song on the wireless, a glimpse of a tall man with dark skin, the scent of his cologne, it made her _long_ for him with every fiber of her being.

She missed him _so much_.

“Gregory’s going to come looking for you if you don’t come back inside soon,” a voice behind her said.

Daphne barely turned her head, just enough to make eye contact with her former classmate. “Hello, Pansy,” she said as she turned back to look towards the sea.

The dark haired woman moved across the marbled patio to stand next to her. The heels of her Louboutins clicked lightly, and the hem of her emerald green dress robes brushed the ground when she walked.

“Is this an engagement soiree or a funeral?” she asked lightly as she took Daphne’s hand and squeezed it lightly. “It feels a bit like a combination.”

“What do you think?” Daphne squeezed her hand in return. She had never been particularly close with Pansy until they’d finished Hogwarts, but at the moment, she was grateful for the companionship.

“The latter,” her friend answered confidently.

“Right in one.” They fell silent for a moment as they watched the waves rolling into the rocky shore, the sounds of the ocean mingling with the faint melodies that the orchestra was playing in the ballroom. It was all a mask; as long as it looked pretty, no one questioned it.

Daphne glanced over at Pansy and murmured, “How do you stand it?”

“I have no choice,” she answered in reply, “and neither do you. We _must_ stand it.” Pansy had been the first of their group to be married off, though she had been fortunate. Her father and Lucius Malfoy had cemented the long-standing alliance between the two men by marrying Draco and Pansy. There were worst husbands to be had- Gregory, for example- but there was nothing but fraternal fondness between the two.

“I feel as if I will never be happy again,” Daphne confided quietly.

Pansy had no answer for that because there was a large possibility that Daphne would _never_ be happy again. None of them would. “I know,” she murmured comfortingly as she could manage. “It’s hard to want- or love- another when you’re forced apart.”

Daphne nodded and squeezed Pansy’s hand again. In her own despair, she had nearly forgotten of Pansy’s own lost love. “Have you heard-“

“No,” she replied shortly. “And I doubt I shall. He knows it’s too dangerous, which is more than I can say for Blaise.” She cut her eyes to Daphne, one dark brow raised. “He’s here.”

“I know,” Daphne whispered. “With Tracey.”

The darker haired woman gave a delicate snort. “She is looking to be the next Madame Lestrange, if you ask me. She’s just as…”

“Insane?” Daphne offered, lips finally twitching upwards.

“Indeed.”

Falling quiet for a moment, Daphne closed her eyes and let the cool night air wash over her fevered skin. There was something coming, though she couldn’t feel what it was. She had once scoffed at Divination and Seers, but after their fifth year, she had fallen silent on the subject. No longer could she deny the powers of unseen forces, moving them about like pawns on a chess board.

“I love him, Pansy,” she finally said, looking her friend in the eye. “I always have, and I always will. This wasn’t supposed to be how it ended. We were supposed to be...”

“Happy?” Pansy supplied, dark brown eyes mixed with sympathy and pity. “Daphne, people like us aren’t supposed to be happy. It isn’t written for us.”

She knew it was true, had lived it for nearly all her life, but Daphne wanted to protest, wanted to cry out that she _had_ been happy, once. She’d been happy before the Dark Lord took over their lives and made them all bow to his might.

Pansy sighed and tugged on Daphne’s hand. “Come now, you have to get back inside. I doubt you want Gregory questioning your absence.”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “You’re right. Let’s go.” With one final glance at the sea, she turned and followed her friend back inside the imposing walls of Willowcourt, completely unaware of the pair of brown eyes that had been on her the entire time.


End file.
